Rapid Television Gender Discourse

Before professionally abandoning his/her chosen trade of headcleaner, Timothy Tabitha Transformer was both a man and a woman and now resides somewhere in-between.  Before is an excerpt from his/her fascinating lecture at the Independence Day Hair Saloon Shoot-Out, in July 2014:

"Thank you for having me here, and me so besotted with rum and spectacle!  It is sweet and creepy, like a valentine from your paroled uncle.  Potted plants for everyone!

Thanks to new media and old mistakes, it's easier than ever to talk about the fluidity - can I say viscosity? - can I say stickiness? - of gender.  It reminds me of my friend Carlton, who, you might say, had his genitals in the wrong place, often at the wrong time, usually at the wrong angle.  How did he fill out his tax forms, those boxes of certainty?  That's a trick question - Carlton was illiterate, and thought licking a sheet of paper was an acceptable form of signature.  But you know what I mean.

We've all heard of the Kinsey Scale, but who wants to weigh themselves on flimsy social science?  Give me rock hard science or a reasonable facsimile!  You know I'm kidding - science has never been our friend, although it has been a friend-of-a-friend and we do think it's cute.  C'mere, science, I'm talking to you!  Oh, you wouldn't think the same creature whose orgasm is an atomic bomb blast would be so coy, but there you are.

Where are you?  Overeating again?  Overeating over the sink, overnight?  How can we get over that?  It's not understatement to suggest your oeuvre is overwhelming.  These are compliments, friend, not rings of liquid left to stain your coffee table.  Stop trying to clean the place up, Bartleby!  That dust is sacred human skin sloughed off in determinedly daily activities!  Treat it with kindness.

It is the skin, indeed, which is what we use when we interact with one another, and skin - like other body parts, like balloons, like computer devices, like government implants - skin will understand gender before the mind or cable news will.  Let me demonstrate.  Do you see this tattoo?  No?  You say there's no tattoo?  You are both right and wrong; this is a potential tattoo.  And indeed what we are is partially potential, even if most of us is entrails and blood and aspartame.  Can I get the next slide please?  What?  There's no slide projector?  There have been no pictures of me in compromising positions behind me the entire time?  What sort of operation is this, Operation Dumbo Drop?

I am often asked by the young and gender-serious how one deals with the hostility one faces in the face of this hostile world.  These eager and earnest wolf cubs with their Moleskine notebooks and cell phones with colored lights haven't yet faced the challenges that they must, in order to develop personalities and goals, and yet I am compelled to advise them.  They have a difficult future in spite of themselves, with climate change barbecuing the planet and type II human growth hormone soon available in the drinking water; but I confess my guidance, my encouragement, is terse and a little sarcastic.  What is it that Englebert Humperdink once said?  Ah yes: 'Do I look like I motherfucking role model?'

But, Timmy Tab, I hear you say, you are a role model, to those oppressed by biology and depressed by the failure of online polls to make any difference in the world.  Reluctantly, I concede.  Apprehensively, I recede.  I cannot continue to mislead or impede.  So I say: if you want to succeed, you must proceed!  To exceed you don't misread, you reread!  We are agreed - together we are a stampede - we are freed, we outspeed their greed, and that is how we shall exceed!

[applause]

The youth of our day believe in rhymes, you know."

Advancements Imbroglio

Scientists and their significant others gathered once again in Las Vegas this month for the annual Know-It-All Conference.  The KIAC, as only one unpopular researcher calls it, is open to anyone who calls him- or herself a scientist, or those who play them on television or in the cinema.  As such, people dressed like Lex Luthor or Linus Pauling are not uncommon, but in general, one is grateful that those who make a living in science has not developed a taste for cosplay.

Although there are reports of many backroom deals and sometimes deadly demonstrations of untested technology, the average visitor will get to see only boring workshops, interminable lectures, people with pale, pasty skin getting inebriated on light beer and cheap well drinks, and of course the obligatory condescending stripper.  But this year someone accidentally left a door propped open, ostensibly for the pizza delivery guy, and some attendees got a firsthand glimpse, or more than a glimpse if they hid from security, of the fabled Secret Projects Hall.

Though the conference organizers still deny its existence, and do so sounding weirdly like former United States President John Tyler, some exposés online and in small-circulation magazines like I Told You So! and Mulder Was Right Monthly provide an incomplete but tantalizing look into what people generally smarter than you or I are clandestinely working on, when surely they could at the very least work on something like deodorant or antiperspirant.  Below are a few projects allegedly in planning or in beta-testing by scientists of the world.

The Kitten Implicator.  A dastardly breach of the feline-canine detente that has lasted centuries, the Kitten Implicator either makes dogs more cat-like, or vice versa; the device is said to "eliminate the non-specific difference between the pets."  The name derives from the suburban belief that dogs receive more blame for mishaps around the house than cats.  Worry-warts warn that the Kitten Implicator may bring to end the notion of a "dog person" or a "cat lady" entirely.

Electronic Fanny Tango.  This bizarrely named device purports to control the minds of mosquitoes, although first trials suggest that it mainly affects male mosquitoes, and no one cares a whit about them.

New Touchy Bootlegger.  A fascinating piece of equipment that can download a new movie before it is put online or even released to the theaters.  Its creators will not admit that they are using a miniature black hole to power their machine, nor will they explain why the device cries when you whistle.

Dr. Electron Halloween Costume Kit For Teenagers.  While this may seem self-explanatory, this is actually a solar-powered collapsible Christmas tree that can be repurposed as a Hanukkah menorah and also as something that says "Happy Good Kwanzaa" on it, available in three self-described "African" colors.

Homebound Dog Collar.  Designed for people who would only like to pretend to be priests, presumably for moral or ethical reasons, this interesting jewelry-like contraption will, much like the "invisible fence" irresponsible dog owners use to torture their charges (no pun intended), deliver a low-level electric shock that increases in intensity the longer you are out among the parishioners.

Red Lightbulb.  A red lightbulb, of a lovely hue.  Most relaxing.  Once it's on, it's on.  When it is turned off, it lingers, like a sad memory, or the odor of someone who only eats bacon.

Condom Spaghetti.  No one had any interest discovering anything about this.

NSA Fan Club Tattoos.  Another bizarre name for a product, this intriguing invention attaches to your skin and encourages governmental spying.  Whether it is designed for military or civilian applications is unknown, although the pranking community has expressed extreme interest.

Red Orgasm Sausage.  While initial reports indicated that this foodstuff was made from the ejaculate of communists, later intelligence suggests it is simply excellent sausage developed from stem cells.

As more reports of the conference trickle out, there will naturally be more to report.  Stay tuned, but not too tuned, as, you know, it does look a little suspicious.

Empty Nest Hatchling Syndrome

Recently overheard in a modern bookstore with windows painted shut:

MAN: Tits.
WOMAN: What's wrong with you?
MAN: Sorry.
OTHER WOMAN: Hello there! Fancy seeing you here.
WOMAN: Yes, no one comes here anymore.
OTHER WOMAN: Can just anyone come here and circle their wagons?
WOMAN: The sign on the door demands it be unlocked during business hours.
OTHER WOMAN: Ah!  The door gives permission.
WOMAN: Can a door, or any inanimate object, even if a human has placed words on it, truly give us permission?
OTHER WOMAN: If we can't give ourselves permission, why do we expect others to give us persimmons?
MAN: Who expects persimmons?
WOMAN: I agree with her, she's got the right idea about fruit.
OTHER WOMAN: You'd love my therapist.
WOMAN: Oh really?
OTHER WOMAN: Yes! She's like if Jeffrey Dahmer and Johnny Cochran had court-ordered the perfect health food menu at a lunch counter in an old-timey pharmacy in Oxnard.
MAN: Tits.
OTHER WOMAN: What did he say?
WOMAN: She said "tits."  It's all she says.
MAN: That's not true.
OTHER WOMAN: Is it like Tourette's?
WOMAN: More like towelettes.
MAN: Tits rhymes with towelettes.
OTHER WOMAN: Anyway, since I've been fleeced I feel so much better.
WOMAN: Really.
OTHER WOMAN: Oh yes.  My ranchers are so gentle with the shears, and afterwards there might be enough for a coat!  Or maybe a small blanket to wrap about yourself when you snuggle up with one another after a hard day of codeine and calisthenics.
WOMAN: I don't believe I have wool.
OTHER MAN: Kafka?
WOMAN: Yes?
OTHER MAN: ...
WOMAN: What did you need?
OTHER MAN: I was looking for Kafka.
WOMAN: Yes?
OTHER MAN: Oh! Is your name Kafka?
WOMAN: No, do I look like a depressed Czech bastard with big ears?
OTHER MAN: Then why wouldn't you just show me where the Kafka is?
OTHER WOMAN: She's just fucking with you.
MAN: Tits.
OTHER WOMAN: She doesn't work here.
OTHER MAN: Oh!  Then who does?
WOMAN: No one.
OTHER MAN: So then I can just take any book I want?  Do I grab a book and pay for it on the honor system?  Is there some kind of safe or box I put the money in at the front?
WOMAN: You're over-thinking this.
OTHER WOMAN: Yes.
OTHER MAN: I am?
WOMAN: Look.
OTHER MAN: What?
WOMAN: You see?  No books!
OTHER MAN: I'll be damned!
MAN: Ti... Oh never mind.
WOMAN: Good girl.